


Can't Sleep

by gandalfthesassy



Series: The Monkees Reader-Inserts [4]
Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Cute, Exhaustion, Fluff, Late Nights, Lazy Mornings, Mornings, Multi, apparently I can only write super sensual kisses, sleepy, there's no such thing as a simple kiss with me I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: You're tired, and Micky's sleepy. One of you thinks sharing a bed will fix both of those things. Gender-neutral reader. Rated T for swearing. Sort of a blend of show!Micky and rl!Micky.





	

Nighttime was your favorite time, not because it was dark and scary out, but because it was the one time in your busy schedule you got some quiet. Not that you didn’t like hearing the boys play, but it was the music _on top of_ all of the other noises and stresses in your day that made it hard to handle. After all the fussing about concert venues and hotels, you’d found a small room of your own, thankfully nearby your friends’ rooms. Davy and Peter had their room by yours, and Mike and Micky’s was a door beyond theirs. Since your room was an unusual one-bed room, you didn’t have a connecting door. From the short time you’d spent with the boys before you had to turn in, they’d propped theirs open, so at least they had each other. You were glad of that, at least.

From the darkness outside, you guessed it was probably near morning, but the clock by your bedside told you it was only midnight. You groaned loudly, half-hoping Peter or Davy would come in and check on you. But you figured they were either deep in discussion about something, or writing a song, or even asleep. You remembered the withered looks they all gave you when you reported that the hotel didn’t have enough rooms--so you slipped $50 to the concierge and put on your sweetest face. The manager came by and suddenly there were three rooms: one for you, one for two boys, and one for the other two. It didn’t hurt to use money on occasion, you figured. By the time you’d gotten that settled, it was already pretty late; even though this was supposed to be their day off they didn’t get to do much.

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours. When you checked the clock again, you blinked when you read that only twenty minutes had passed. Maybe you drank too much coffee? At this point you were too exhausted to care, and you were even too exhausted to sleep. It’s not like this was new, but you _really_ needed to sleep.

The air conditioning suddenly roared to life, and a chill passed over you. You wrapped your blankets around yourself and hoped you could somehow pass out long enough to be up and ready to usher your friends to where they’d be safe, until they could get up onstage and play.

Someone knocked at your door. Immediately, you leapt out of bed, your bare feet hitting the carpet a little too hard. You snuck up to the door and peeked through the peephole.

 _Micky?_ You didn’t believe it.

No, it was definitely Micky. While he waited for you to open the door, he made a variety of goofy faces but returned to his normal, serene but sleepy face. You counted yourself grateful that you got to see it--not many did, because he always covered up with those goofy expressions. Finally, you cracked the door and peeked out at him, not hiding your exhaustion. “What’s wrong, Micky?” you asked him, voice slightly raspy from sleep (or lack thereof). He wore nothing but a dark-colored tank top and striped boxers that almost wanted to be briefs. It wasn’t uncommon to see the boys in very little clothing, but something about the lateness of an outfit like that _tonight_ made you cringe.

“I had a bad dream.” You expected a pout, but he just stared at you with those big eyes of his. “Can I come in?” You sighed.

“Alright,” you relented. He gave you a grateful smile as you unlatched the door and opened it up to let him in. Micky came in as you flicked on the lights. He covered up his eyes dramatically with his arms, crying out in surprise. You rolled your eyes. “Micky, come sit down.” You sat on the edge of the bed, but instead of following suit, Micky stumbled to the other side of your bed and he flopped onto it, curling up on top of the covers. You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Micky, come on, man, you can’t stay in here tonight.” He brought his head up awfully slowly. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re a grown up.”

“Don’t feel like one,” he muttered. He lay his head sideways on the bed and laughed a little. “Your bed’s all warm.”

“Isn’t yours?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep either,” you brought your feet up onto the bed and faced him. “I got all comfy and then I couldn’t stop thinking about stuff. What’d you dream about?”

He brought his head up just enough to lay it on top of his hands. His eyes grew distant for a moment as he struggled to remember. “I think...shit, I don’t know. I remember that something was chasing me, and no matter how fast I ran I couldn’t get away. I woke up just like...sweaty and shaky. I think I’m okay now, though.”

“Then why’d you come in here?”

“I’m scared it’ll happen again.”

“I doubt it will.”

“(y/n), I’m serious,” he looked up at you, and you believed him. He managed to sit up and scoot over to you. “I’m sorry if it makes you feel weird, but it would help me if I could share a bed with someone.”

“Well, why me? Why not Mike or the others?”

“You’re awake. You can’t sleep either.”

You hugged your knees. “I don’t need someone else,” you told him with some certainty, but he tilted his head curiously. A moment passed, of him looking at you and you looking at your hands, which you suddenly found incredibly fascinating.

“Maybe you do.” You looked up at him. His gaze had softened considerably, but you knew he wasn’t trying to butter you up--he genuinely cared about you.

“This isn’t about me.”

“Well, I’m scared of my dreams, and your body’s scared to sleep. Maybe we can be less scared together,” he shrugged. You eyed him, still suspicious. Well, he seemed genuine enough.

“Alright, alright,” you gave up and crawled under the covers, turned up towards the ceiling while you heard (and felt) Micky crawl in beside you. It only took a few minutes for his breathing to deepen. You found it a little easier to breathe again--not that he scared you, but you didn’t trust your exhausted self talking with him for too long.

You watched him sleep for a few moments, seeing that one of his hands lay palm-up between your head and his. You slipped one of yours atop his. The warmth of his hand, and his nose nuzzling your hand, made you smile. You found yourself nodding off too, just as he slid over to be closer to you, and both of you fell asleep.

~~

The light from the sunrise tickled your toes--and you woke to find that one of your feet was sticking out from under the covers. You’d undoubtedly shifted during the night, as had the late-night addition to your bed.

Oh _shit_. You had woken up, in bed, with your best friend. However clothed you were, you couldn’t help your flushed face.

A quick glance at the bedside clock told you it was only 6am, but you figured even this early that you could probably start getting ready. You pulled yourself towards your end of the bed only to feel something pull back a little. You went still. You glanced beneath the covers to find Micky’s arm draped across your waist. With a bit more force, you figured you could get free of him, so you pulled just hard enough to break away and you got yourself up and out of bed.

The second your body left his grasp, he stirred, rubbing one eye with a half-limp hand. He opened his eyes just enough to see you standing, caught in a moment where pretty much anything you could do wouldn’t resolve the impending awkwardness.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah?” you squeaked. Your eyes softened a little at seeing his half-asleep face illuminated by the morning sun. His hair stuck out in all directions, a mass of unorganized chaos dominating his head.

“What _time_ is it?”

“Six AM, why?”

He frowned. “Come back to bed, please. I miss you.”

“We’re not a thing, Micky, and I have to get ready.” You muttered as you went to your bathroom: “But I wish I could.”

You freshened up, making yourself look presentable even in your pajamas. You stretched your body a little, giving your muscles the chance to wake up. In the mirror, you saw Micky lean against the door frame. He let out a sleepy mumble. “What’s up?” you asked him.

“I said you look nice,” he spoke more clearly, a little put off at having to admit it loudly. “Even without trying to.”

“Well, thank you, Micky,” you smiled sweetly, though you got the feeling you might have overdone it, because he tilted his head slightly at your expression.

“You know, I didn’t come into your room to tease you. I really wanted to spend time with you.” As you stepped back from the sink, he turned on the tap and splashed some water onto his face. You leaned against the wall near the sink. Micky smeared the bar soap across his hands and rubbed it into his face. You knew he cared a bit for how he presented himself, but he seemed to be ignoring you, or waiting for you to do something. Either way, you had to ask the question.

“Micky, are you trying to tell me something?” you sighed. “Because whatever it is, I’m clearly not getting. Unless it’s that you _like_ me, in which case I think I get you, and I, uh...I’m…” You trailed off. He’d stopped mid-scrub and turned to face you. “I mean, do you like me or am I crazy?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. You blinked as he rinsed and dried his face. “I mean yes, I do like you. But it’s not that big of a deal. I care more about us getting along than any big couple thing like…like getting married, having kids, I’m not into that with anyone, but I do like the idea of spending more time with you, more intimately.”

“I also like that idea, Micky,” you broke into a goofy smile. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“Never thought you’d ask,” he grinned back and opened an arm to you. You hugged him sideways, glancing at yourselves in the mirror.

“God, we’re so dumb,” you smiled.

“Hmm? Why?” He leaned his head against yours.

“Well, shit, we’ve been best friends for what, seven years? And it took us that long to even get to a point where we couldn’t tell each other.”

“Hey, love takes time. And people thought we were dating already.”

“You’re such a hippie,” you looked right at him, acutely aware of how, well, _cute_ he was. He gazed back, matching your gaze evenly. You could’ve sworn you saw a flash of him giving you bedroom eyes. You jerked up an eyebrow.

“If that’s the price I pay for feeling like a human, so be it.” His hand floated to where your neck met your jaw and coaxed you closer to his face. Nearly against your lips he whispered: “I’d rather love openly than look cool.” You pressed your lips to his, so quickly that he pulled back ever so slightly in surprise. But you recovered, kissing him again. When he found his rhythm, he began kissing back with equal passion.

Admittedly, you’d kissed him before, but at that party you’d drank enough to not care, and he was too flustered by your advance to stop you at first, until he finally reminded you that he had to drive forward when the streetlight changed. You’d pouted and forgotten almost immediately what you had done. But you more than made up for it as you and Micky melted into each other.

Even when you two stopped kissing, his early morning warmth and sleepy gaze were hard to dismiss, so you kept yourself intertwined with him. You chatted like you were still just friends, but the looks you gave each other could have outshone the sun. At some point, you remembered you had to sort out some equipment shit that you weren’t ready to solve, but you had to anyway. You kissed him once more, dragging your lips away, and he tried to follow but you backed away too quickly. You laughed at him pouting, to which he blushed. 

“(y/n), I’m not the best with words, but you’ve just set my whole being on fire,” he told you.

“That’s not bad,” you smiled. You went to find your clothes, and he followed, craving you somewhere in his nearly fully-awoken brain. “You’ve given me the energy I need to put up with all the shit in the world.” You pecked his cheek out of nowhere. He pantomimed fainting against the wall behind him.

“Oh no!” he cried dramatically. “Your compliments! Your love! Your kisses! They’ve rendered me weak, and helpless. I need more, more, please.”

“Micky, I love you, but let me change first. I’ve got to go sort something out, and we can spend time together. You should also consider,  you know, putting on pants?” He glanced down, noticing his distinct lack of anything to cover the rest of his lower half. You patted his cheek fondly, though you let yourself jest. “I’ll be in your room in a few hours. I’ll be back just as soon as I get everything resolved.”

You walked him back to his room, leaving him with a discreet but flirtatious wink. The others seemed asleep, so you let Micky disappear into the room without following. You figured by the time you got back, the entire band would have grilled Micky on the new relationship and they’d be ready for you. But after changing in your room, you made your way down the hall, ready to problem-solve.

And now, you had someone warm and wonderful waiting for you when you got back. That thought certainly didn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> Micky needs some love too! I promised this would be coming soon--sorry it's later than I wanted, but here you go. I'd like to write some more in the future, maybe longer fics with a stronger arc (I'm used to one-offs to maybe two chapters' worth of fanfic).


End file.
